Devoutly to be Wished
by KADH
Summary: Intimacy can be found in the most unexpected places. Afternoon dish duty leads to major shift in Grissom and Sara’s relationship.


Intimacy can be found in the most unexpected places. Afternoon dish duty leads to major shift in Grissom and Sara's relationship.

_Takes place a little over a month after episode 524/5 "Grave Danger," circa June 200_

A special thanks to Frank who not only helped me figure out how to get this story to work, but who taught me not only that doing dishes can be a fun and slightly dangerous endeavor but also that men are always full of surprises.

* * *

Sara was up to her elbows in soapsuds when she felt, rather than heard Grissom come up behind her.

"Come to help?" She inquired.

Over the past several weeks, the two of them had come to an unspoken agreement of sorts. Grissom would handle most of the cooking, with Sara helping out and learning a little along the way. In return, she would handle the washing up and he was in charge of the drying and putting everything away.

While he had regularly protested that there was no need for her to go through all of that trouble as he had a perfectly functioning automatic dishwasher in his kitchen, Sara had insisted and Grissom knew well enough when not to press.

Besides, she seemed to find the activity oddly relaxing and even he found the act strangely enjoyable as it provided him with time to be near Sara while yet occupied in an entirely innocent endeavor.

At this moment, however, Grissom wasn't thinking about the dirty dishes left over from lunch.

Instead, both of his hands settled softly on her shoulders. One swept the shoulder-length hair away from her neck. As he leaned in to kiss her there, he whispered, "No."

Her eyes closed at the warmth of his breath and the brush of his lips against her skin. She leaned back into his touch and sighed. Her hands soon abandoned the dishes. The fingers of her right threaded their way through his closely cropped hair while she gripped the edge of the sink with the other to keep her balance.

Sara had no idea how Grissom had known to do so, but he was currently engaged in lavishing attention to one of her favorite places to be kissed. Or at least it was one the favorite place she had experience him kissing.

While they had in the course of the last month or so, spent the night (or more precisely the day) together and she had woken to the feel of his lips on hers, the two of them hadn't moved much past a some enthusiastic kissing and mostly innocent caressing.

That fact didn't trouble Sara in the least. There was just too much pleasure to be had in the contact they did share to be overly concerned or think too much about the pleasure other potential contact might provide.

For now, she luxuriated in the touch of him, the nearness, the intimacy.

After a moment, she turned her head in order to return his kiss -- an act he readily and wholeheartedly appreciated. As the contact deepened and lengthened, Sara turned to face him and slid her arms around his neck; his hands settled at her waist.

When the first thing Sara did once she had caught her breath was to laugh, Grissom looked very confused.

"You're all wet and soapy," she quickly explained as she brushed bubbles from his hair.

Grissom's resultant grin slowly turned mischievous. Suddenly and with little ceremony upon his part, he reached behind her and scooped up suds from the sink and deposited them on her nose.

"That's it," Sara spluttered, wiping them off with the back of her hand. Almost in the same movement, she splashed him soundly.

Grissom looked amusedly aghast. She smirked, until in one fluid motion he lunged for the spray hose next to the faucet and pointed it at her.

"You wouldn't," she warned evenly.

While he seemed to be considering the ramifications of his potential actions for a moment, he merely shrugged and flipped the tap on. All he needed to do next was press the button to release the water. Something Sara was quick to register.

But retreat it seemed was not an option. She seized the spray bottle from the counter in an attempt to arm herself, an act that for some reason wholly and yet unknown to her caused him to let out a hearty laugh.

"What's so funny?" She asked.

"Not telling."

"_Gris_ --" She began warningly.

"Yes, dear?" He replied and she had to fight back a grin.

Sara always found something particularly beguiling about him using that particular endearment to refer to her.

But this was a time of war, not love.

"Put down the hose," she insisted, carefully and deliberately enunciating each word.

"Or what?"

"I have excellent aim," she cautioned.

"Of that I have no doubt," he conceded willingly. "I've seen your shooting range scores." The fact that his own marks were more than just a little higher than hers, was something he neglected to relate to her. Instead, he smiled and gestured to the bottle in her hand. "But you are slightly out gunned," he added.

Sara gave him one of those _oh, really_ looks to which he merely continued to smile blithely.

The gauntlet having been effectively thrown, Sara decided to go for the proactive strike. She went to squeeze the trigger.

Nothing happened.

She tried again.

Nothing.

She swore.

To which Grissom simply persevered in grinning.

She briefly took her eyes off him in order to examine the bottle a little more closely. An act which proved to be a monumental mistake as he took advantage of her momentary distraction to engineer his own offensive.

Sara sputtered under the spray of cold water. "That's it!" She cried. "You're dead."

He looked highly doubtful at this prospect which proved to be a grave error on his part, because she dropped the spray bottle and launched herself at him, but instead of attempting to disarm him, she kissed him -- full and hard and long on the mouth until he began to relax and loose himself in the kiss, which is when Sara managed to ease the hose from his grasp and proceed to douse him in water.

By the time she let go of the trigger, Grissom looked thoroughly soaked, mildly shocked and though he would never admit it, a little pleased.

She was the one smiling smugly now and was about to spray him again, when he advanced on her. But when he reached for the hose, he underestimated Sara's reflexes, her innate desire for self-preservation, and that fact that she had been trained in weaponless self-defense in San Francisco. She, on the other hand, underestimated Grissom's perseverance. So she was caught off guard when he grabbed her waist instead of her hand and spun her around so her back was to him.

The momentum proved to be too much for pair of them and they both ended up sprawled on the kitchen floor. Sara went to rise, but his hands closed over her wrists and his body blocked her from getting up. She struggled for a moment, still laughing, until their eyes met and everything went quiet.

And suddenly seemed hauntingly familiar.

Grissom leaned in. The first press of his lips was light compared with that of his hands, but the kiss grew more insistent as he urged her lips open.

Sara sighed heavily, but he mistook the sound as one of disquiet and pulled back. She quickly reached for him and drew him back to her again.

"Sara," he breathed and then -- "You don't know how much I wanted to do that then," he confessed still breathless from the kiss that separated her name from the rest of his words. "But it would have been wholly inappropriate for the lab. And you would probably have slapped me."

Slowly the smile on Sara's face fell away, only to be replaced by an almost remorseful expression. "But I did, didn't I?" She replied. "Not physically speaking, but I did."

"Sara --"

"Gris, I had no right to say what I did that day, to imply that about you--"

"Sara --"

"I'm sorry."

"Sara--"

"I really am. I am. I'm..."

He kissed her again, briefly this time, gently.

"I'm sorry, too," he said, slipping a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. "For so many things. But, honey, no more apologies, not now. Not for the past." He brushed his lips against her cheek and said his tone less solemn, yet no less earnest, "Otherwise, we'll both be here all night and I don't think my knees can take the contact with the floor that long."

He gave her a shy, almost awkward and yet hopeful smile, which she faintly returned.

"Come on," he said, extending his hand to her to help her off the floor. She took it and he pulled her up. But whether he used more force than was necessary or had overestimated her weight, he tugged her a little too hard, causing her to stumble against him. He caught her up, his hands grasping her waist while her arms closed around his neck.

"It's all your fault, you know," he said after a moment.

"What is?"

"The water everywhere."

"Mine?" Sara queried in disbelief. "You started it."

"Me?" Grissom tried to sound innocent and indignant and incredulous, but failed miserably.

"Yes," she laughed. "I was in here minding my own business when you came in."

"Would you rather I just go?" He asked, moving to leave.

She tightened her hold. "No," she answered.

Not quite realizing what it sounded like he was suggesting, Grissom said almost absently, "We should get you out of those wet clothes." Sara's eyes went wide at unintentional innuendo. "You're sopping wet," he explained. "I can give you something to wear while I throw your clothes into the dryer. It'll be a little big for you, but..."

"Okay."

But she didn't let go. Neither did he. They simply stood there quiet and still. Sara's thumbs traced the space between his ear and chin and Grissom's eyes closed while his own fingers tightened around her waist. After a moment, her hands slid over his shoulders and settled onto his chest where they briefly rested, before her own fingers moved to undo the buttons of his oxford.

He was slightly taken aback by the gesture.

"You're wet, too," she explained.

"Sara --"

She stopped, nodded in comprehension and reluctantly pulled away.

"Wait," he said, grasping her hand as she turned. "I wasn't asking you to stop."

At the moment, she wasn't at all sure what he was trying to tell her. She peered up at him intently, trying to read the answer in his face. It was then that she realized what the vague tremble in his voice had meant.

"You're nervous," Sara said gently.

Eventually, he nodded and whispered, "Yes."

"It's just me," she reassured him.

"That's why I'm nervous," he admitted.

"Why?"

"You want the long answer or the short one?" He asked, grinning uncomfortably. Sara simply waited patiently for him to continue. "I guess I worry about disappointing you," he confessed after a long pause.

Which was an answer that only perplexed her all the more. "Why ever would you think that?" She asked in disbelief.

"This isn't something I do lightly."

"Sex?"

"_Love_," he corrected. "And no, not sex either."

"Me either," she replied. When Grissom appeared to look surprised at this, Sara shook her head and said, "You think because the only time we've really talked about sex I told you I had sex on a airplane with a Chem. T.A. that I'm into casual sex? I was twenty-one," she explained. "I had just gotten out of what I had mistakenly thought was a monogamous relationship. It was Spring Break. I was stupid. It was a mistake. And he was absolutely..."

"Overrated?" Grissom supplied.

She smiled at the idea that he would have remembered that particular conversation in such detail.

"Very," she answered. "Unlike you." Sara took his face in both of her hands and said, "Look, Gris, I don't know what you think I am expecting. But I can tell you that you've already exceeded my expectations in every way."

"They're that low?" He asked cheekily and she was pleased to see him smiling again.

"Hardly," she retorted, shaking her head in exasperation. "Gil -"

He caught the use of his first name and understood she was trying to tell him something serious and important.

"We don't have to do this now," she began. "We don't have to do anything. Believe me, just washing dishes with you is far more intimate than anything I have ever had with anyone else." She moved to return to the sink. "So, you want to help me finish up?" She asked.

"No."

"No?"

"No, Sara," he replied, closing the distance between them. "The dishes can wait. But I don't want to anymore."


End file.
